So you see, Ass-Head is probably right in his review of the latest Bond buffoonery but that only obscures the more important question: what was he doing in the theater watching that schlock in the first place? Who goes to a cemetery to pick up hot chicks? What should he have been doing instead? The answer is watching the American version of The Office.
Slothrop owes his opiated readers some disclosure: the first time he tried watching this show he failed, as his loyalty was with David Brent, british accents, Excalibur and Slough. And when the first episode of the first season was identical--every last twitch and mannerism the same--to the original, Slothy was not pleased with the impostors. Turns out the decision to give it a second chance was stupendous. The things Steve Carell does with his face is worth seventeen of James Bond's none-o-pussies.
And what's more relevant to our lives: watching imaginary computer generated plane chases, or finding humor in the pit and pendulum of daily work-space life? Is there not more beauty in the absurdity of quotidian life and the brave work of making it miraculously funny?
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